


Sent You To Me Without Wings

by alwaysamy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysamy/pseuds/alwaysamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately post-5.04 (The End), Dean is looking for a little distraction. Castiel gives him more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sent You To Me Without Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Features Dean and a OFC, lots of UST between Dean and Cas, and another title from a Fall Out Boy lyric. Inspired by [this fantastic picture](http://serenada-art.livejournal.com/7144.html#cutid1) by serenada_art, which grabbed me and would not let go (and is NSFW).

Her name is Rae, and she’s dark and curvy, with a wicked tilt to her grin. Dean thinks she’s what Pamela might have been like when she was younger, bawdy and up for pretty much anything. Which means she’s exactly what he needs, tonight anyway.

He’s not ready to think about what he saw himself do in the future, or what Sam will say when Dean meets him tomorrow, or Lucifer with Sam’s face, in that horrible fucking ‘70s suit, and the things he said, in Sam’s voice.

He doesn’t even want to think about what the hell it means that Cas is going to turn into a stoned hippie sex god if things go the wrong way. And how it bothers him, a little too much, the idea of Cas fucking anything that moves, strung out and cynical and … not his Cas anymore.

Not that Cas is _his_ , not like that. _Not yet,_ his subconscious supplies helpfully, and yeah, hello, way bigger issues here than whatever fucked up sexual tension he and Cas have going on. Which is exactly why sex with Rae is definitely the way to spend the evening.

She’s already wet when Dean strips her jeans and panties off back at the motel, and Dean has no idea if the fifteen minutes they spent making out in the car is the cause, or if she was ready to party when she headed out tonight. He doesn’t really care, either way. She smells good and tastes better, all ocean tang, and by the time he makes her come, groaning and laughing breathlessly, she’s so slick, it’s all over them both.

_Yahtzee._

“Goddamn, you’re good at that,” she manages when she has her breath back. She’s up on her elbows, watching as he skins off his T-shirt and his jeans. “Nine point seven from the Irish judge.”

“The Irish judge?” He snorts and kicks his jeans to one side, sitting down on the bed to strip off his socks.

“The Irish judge being me,” she explains, and sits up to crawl behind him. Her hands are warm on his waist as she kisses his shoulders, his nape, the ticklish hollow between his shoulder blades. “Not that you care about my last name or my heritage, I’m guessing.”

“Not so much at the moment,” he admits, and starts to twist sideways. It’s stupid, because she’s fun, and funny, and currently completely naked, flushed and soft and waiting for him, and all he can think about is how Cas wouldn’t understand this conversation at all.

But before he can roll her over, she wriggles away and points to the head of the bed. “No, no. Sit up there? I wanna ride you.”

He’s not going to shake his head at the way Cas wouldn’t understand that either, because he’s not crazy, and he’s not … well, he’s just not. Rae’s right here, and she’s ready to go, and he needs to put everything that happened in the last forty-eight hours, including Cas, out of his head, for fuck’s sake. So he grins and gets comfortable, stroking his cock slowly before he puts the condom on. “Climb on, cowgirl.”

She flips her hair back, tilts her head. “You wanna saddle up, or should I do it?”

“Please, be my guest.” He tosses her the foil packet. She looks good crawling up between his legs, breasts swinging, and he sighs contentedly when she leans down to lick the head of his cock. Her hair is silky and thick in his fingers when he gets a handful -- a couple more hard sucks like she’s giving him now, and he’s not going to make it to the main event.

She licks her lips when she sits up to wrap his dick, and he pulls her over his thighs as soon as she’s done. His cock is pulsing already, eager and fat, and she guides him inside her just far enough that she can sink down in one smooth glide.

Oh _yeah,_ goddamn, that’s what he needed. Right there, dark wet heat clutching at him as he steers her up and down. There’s nothing else, nothing troubling, nothing apocalypse-related, and definitely nothing angel-related, not here, not now.

Rae grabs his shoulders to balance herself, and she groans when he lets go of her hips to squeeze her ass gently. She tightens up inside with a breathy little grunt each time, and it’s good, sonofabitch it’s good, but he doesn’t want to come yet.

“Slow down,” he murmurs, and bites the lush curve of one breast, just hard enough to make her gasp. “We’ve got all night.” He hopes, anyway, because if he’s doing this he can’t be staring at the water-stained ceiling in the dark, thinking about things that’ll drive him crazy.

“Haven’t you ever heard of seizing the moment?” she counters, squeezing down, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders a little painfully.

He growls and bites at her jaw, her throat, pulling her down until he’s buried so deep, she can probably taste it. “Slow,” he says again, and licks at the fleeting teeth marks he left on her neck.

She settles into the rhythm then, closing her eyes and letting her head roll back, and he tries to focus on every slick glide in and out. On the friction, the wet heat, the comfortable weight of her on his lap, the sweet-salt, girl-sweat smell of the skin between her breasts.

It almost works, too. Until he hears the soft beat of wings beneath the creak of bed springs, and he opens his eyes to see Castiel standing at the foot of the bed.

“Ouch,” Rae gasps, and he concentrates on relaxing his fingers, all ten of which are currently digging into her ass in surprise. He puts one hand on the small of her back, and cups her head with the other, because now is not the time for her to turn around and realize they have company.

In all the times Cas has winged in from wherever, this has never happened. And Cas is pretty clearly fascinated -- he’s already tilting his head the way he does when he’s considering something wholly human and unfamiliar.

Dean has never felt more naked in his life. And not just in the skin all over the place way, either. This is him, burying all of his brain’s higher functions in pussy, and still looking at Cas like everything he ever wanted just showed up on a platter. He can feel it in the way his mouth is hanging open, slack and still wet, and he can’t seem to change it, not even when Cas steps closer, that bright blue gaze fixed on him like a goddamn searchlight.

There’s nothing to say, not yet, not with his dick still buried in Rae’s cunt, so he just swallows, and watches as he lets go of Rae’s back and stretches out his hand. Cas blinks, and for a minute Dean is sure he’s going to disappear, but instead he sits down at the foot of the bed.

Rae’s breathing shifts, a soft little sigh, and Dean thrusts into her deeper, so she won’t question the way the mattress tilted. Cas’s eyebrows draw together, curious and a little disturbed, Dean thinks, but he doesn’t say anything, he just … watches.

And that’s … fuck, that’s a kink Dean didn’t even know he had. Cas is going to watch him come, watch him fuck this girl until he spills. He was hot before, but now he’s prickling with heat, his skin tight and unbearable, like he’s going to burst out of it any minute.

“Harder,” Rae breathes, pulling herself closer, rubbing her breasts against him, and Dean watches as Cas’s eyes widen. He tightens his fingers on the back of Rae’s neck and thrusts up, as hard as he can, waiting for her appreciative moan … and Cas’s reaction to it.

His mouth opens, and he blinks, head still tilted to one side, and before Dean can even think about what the expression on his face means, he lays his hand on Dean’s foot.

It’s like an electric shock, a sudden flare of sensation, even though Cas’s touch is light, nothing more than the weight of his hand there without any pressure. But it’s enough -- bare skin against bare skin, the pad of Cas’s thumb brushing the outside arch of Dean’s foot. It’s ridiculously intimate, a secret thrill with this girl in his lap, and his cock still buried inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Rae groans, and tightens down around him as he pumps up and up, short, messy stabs into the heat of her. He can feel it when she starts to come, freezing in place before it ripples through her, and then she’s fluttering around him, those slick muscles inside clutching, dragging Dean’s orgasm out of him before he can stop it.

He grunts through it, shuddering, more aware of Cas’s fingers tightening around his foot than the rush of relief. Rae’s still panting, slumped forward with her forehead on his shoulder, and he runs a hand over her sweaty back absently. Cas is still staring, and Dean can’t look away, even though he knows, in the part of his brain on red alert with sirens and flashing lights, that this is going to get really awkward really quick.

With a fluttery sigh, Rae pushes up on her knees, and Dean can’t think of what to do before she’s sliding off his cock and onto the bed beside him, on her back. Where she has a perfect view of a total stranger, in a trench coat no less, absently holding Dean’s foot.

“What the --?” She scrambles up onto her knees, one arm held to her breasts protectively. “Whoa. We have a fucking audience? That’s a little kinkier than I signed up for.”

Dean’s still gaping, every quick excuse and last-minute lie suddenly gone. “Um …”

“Hey, I mean it, what the --?” Even scrambling doesn’t move her far enough away from Cas’s quick fingers to make a difference, and she falls back against the pillows, eyes closed, when he touches her forehead gently.

“She’s only sleeping,” Cas explains, standing up and walking to the closet, where he finds a spare blanket folded on the shelf. He drapes it over her politely while Dean fumbles off the condom. “She’ll remember everything but me when she wakes.”

“Handy,” Dean says with a weak smile, and gets up, avoiding Cas’s gaze. There’s the condom to get rid of, and his pants to find, and for now those tasks are a lot more appealing than actually facing Cas, or trying to get his heart to stop pounding.

“I apologize.” Cas sounds like he swallowed a handful of gravel, even more than usual. “I had no idea you were … occupied.”

“I figured,” Dean says, and steps into the bathroom, jeans in one hand and the sticky condom in the other. He can still feel the weight of Cas’s palm on his foot, the warmth of connection.

Same way he can still feel the burn of Cas’s handprint when he concentrates, which he tries not to do very often.

He washes his hands and pulls on his jeans, but there’s no way to drag it out any further without feeling like a mortified little kid hiding in the closet. He shuts off the light and turns around, only to find Cas right there, not three feet outside the open bathroom door.

“That’s the sex act.” Blunt as ever, and nearly expressionless. It’s almost reassuring, Dean thinks absently.

“One of ‘em, yeah.” He wishes he’d grabbed his shirt, too. He’s clammy and uncomfortable with drying sweat, and he’s no closer to ready for a conversation than he was a minute ago.

“Between a man and a woman.”

 _Huh._ He looks up from his own bare feet to meet Cas’s gaze. “Yeah.”

“It would be … different between two men.”

No disguising it, Cas’s gaze definitely strays from Dean’s face to his own body, quickly enough that Dean wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t staring.

“Some of it, yeah,” Dean ventures carefully, leaning against the doorjamb.

“So two men would … kiss?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, and now _he_ sounds like he’s swallowed gravel. “Absolutely.” It’s hard not to stare directly at Cas’s broad mouth now, the pale lips that need a little Blistex and somehow still look good enough to bite.

“But that’s not all.”

The non-question questions are a little weird, but so is the discussion. Of course, so are half the discussions he has with Cas, so that's nothing new. Dean swallows and shrugs. “Of course not. Men would touch each other, get naked, all that.”

“All that?”

God, the narrow-eyed squint, the fucking _focus_. It’s like a pop quiz and a really surreal explanation of the birds and the bees rolled together. “They’d touch each other’s dicks,” Dean manages, and pretends he doesn’t feel his own cock twitching with interest. “Stroke them. Suck them.”

Cas’s eyes widen briefly before he continues. “And … fucking? That’s … possible?”

“Yeah.” God, so much for cooling down. Dean’s sweating again already, with nerves and fresh arousal. “It’s a little different, tighter, and you have to, um, prepare first. Stretch.”

“The anus.”

Cas has a lot to learn about dirty talk, but his sheer honesty is sort of a weird turn-on. “Yeah. With fingers. Sometimes with tongue.” Fuck, tongue. He can see it suddenly, himself bent over the bed while Cas spreads his ass open, leans in to slide his tongue over that wrinkled pucker. In another minute, he’s going to have to change positions or Cas is going to see just how much Dean likes that idea.

“I see,” Cas says finally, and maybe he’s trying to picture it, too, maybe he’s trying to picture Dean doing it to him, Dean has no idea, but the whole thing is making him hard again, and he wants more than anything to push away from the door and grab Cas by the goddamn trench coat and _show_ him. Taste him, touch him, watch him flush and squirm and shudder ...

“The act is limited between two men?” It’s finally an actual question, and Dean wants to believe he’s not imagining the hopefulness in Cas’s voice that’s asking Dean to refute the idea.

And hell, that’s easy enough, because it’s not true. “No, when two people want to be together, they find a way to make it work, to please each other. Believe me.”

Does he? It’s impossible to tell, even as he searches Cas’s face, those stupid hot blue eyes.

But all he says is, “Sleep well, Dean,” before he’s gone with another rippling flutter of wings.

And with that, all the tension bleeds out of Dean like water. He sags against the doorjamb as he runs a hand over his face. Sleep well, he thinks with a choked laugh. As if.


End file.
